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“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Gallagher.” The man at the head of the table spoke serenely, giving himself airs that I wasn’t sure he deserved.
“Perhaps you could introduce me to your companion.”
Rafe went from stiff to rigid, his gaze directed at the tabletop. “This is Mr. Fairchild. He’s a representative of the San Francisco Witches’ Council.”
If that news surprised Mr. Stevenson, he didn’t let it show. “Welcome, Mr. Fairchild. I hope your stay here has been fruitful.”
I gave him a smile intended to dazzle, and his short intake of breath proved my success. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr…” I allowed my voice to trail off, inviting someone – anyone – to fill in the missing information.
“I’m Oliver Stevenson,” he said, and going around the table, he introduced his companions, Mr. Ford, Mr. Trilby, and the sisters Misses Franklin, distinguishable only because one wore a dress of shocking purple, while the other’s gown was an appalling orange.
When he reached Mrs. Morrison, I noticed a subtle hum, right at the edge of my awareness. The psychic. With luck, that hum was Rafe, blocking her power.
Otherwise we might have a problem.
If there was a Mr. Morrison, no one mentioned him. The Mrs. was the youngest one present, her silvery silk dress the very height of fashion, and on her introduction, she gave me a smile that rivaled one of my own.
“So very nice to meet you, Mr. Fairchild.” Her voice had a musical trill, a note of falseness, that immediately raised my hackles. If she noted my suspicion, however, her expression didn’t change.
But then I expect someone who could read minds must be better than most at schooling their expression.
Our sparring smiles were interrupted by Stevenson, who rapped on the table. Everyone turned to him. “Thank you all for coming,” he began, his chest puffed up as if he truly was the most powerful one in the room. “I must ask, however, why your father didn’t make the journey. I hope he’s well.”
“My father is too busy for such fool—”
I cut him off. “I believe the senior Mr. Gallagher is otherwise occupied by an impending storm. He did send his regrets.”
“Is that so?” Stevenson smirked in a most annoying way. “I thought perhaps he had left this mortal plane.”
I turned toward Rafe, my expression falsely puzzled. He ignored me, but at least he wasn’t raising a burning ball of power to throw at Stevenson.
“He was hale and hearty when we left him this morning,” I lied.
Mrs. Morrison laughed. “Oh, you are telling a tale. Martin Gallagher died two weeks ago. I saw it in the stars.”
In the stars. My Lord. “I hesitate to cast aspersions on your—”
“Martin Gallagher lives, and he sent me to tell you to leave off this foolishness. Seattle will not have a Witches’ Council.”
“Why not?” Stevenson’s question seemed to have escaped his mouth against his will. He rubbed his chin, collecting himself, then continued. “The city is growing, and the mundanes need a formal way of interacting with us. Where is the harm in it?”
Rafe fisted both hands. “Because you’re only in it for your own profit. Elect someone else to lead—”
“How dare you?” Stevenson rose to his feet, palms flat on the table. “I’ve been here, doing the work without the title, while all you’ve done is hide in your godforsaken tower. I’ll have you know we don’t need your permission to form this Council, and you will join with us or deal with the results. This is the last time I will ask.”
“No.”
Under different circumstances, the flatness of his tone might have made me laugh. As it was, the tension in the room made my ears ring and I dared to let my hand rest on his forearm. “You must understand Mr. Gallagher’s point of view. He and his parents have been on their own for so long, I can see where he doesn’t understand the benefits of joining with you.”
A surprising flash of heat had me remove my hand from him and again I had to stifle a laugh.Dear Lord, could these fools not see the power radiating from him?Even in a diminished state, he dominated the room. Stevenson and his friends were playing with something stronger than fire, and I didn’t know if I should warn them or let them learn the hard way.
“Of course,” Mrs. Morrison said. “Perhaps you could enlighten him, Ollie dear.”
Ollie dear? How very forward. The other men must have become used to her, for neither reacted. One Miss Franklin, the one in purple, pursed her lips in a moue of distaste, but her orange-garbed sister maintained a benign smile.
Appropriate or not, Mrs. Morrison’s request calmed the waters. Stevenson made an obvious effort to control himself and resumed his seat. “Yes, well it saddens me that you don’t see an immediate benefit to joining with us.”
“No,” Rafe repeated, and I had to cross my legs to keep from kicking him in the shin.
